She was furious, but yet I could see, too, as doubtless could the others, that she was sexually charged. She was naked, before clothed men. This can be sexually stimulating to a woman. It is hard for her, in such circumstances, not to see them as her masters and herself, before them, as an exposed slave.
John Norman, Explorers of Gor
© 2012, Andrew Conway. All rights reserved.
“I hope to reflect credit upon my master,” she said.
“You will, or be beaten,” I said.
“Of course, Master.”
“You must keep yourself fastidiously beautiful, walk well, and such.”
“Yes, Master.”
The slave, of course, has no choice in such matters. She is her master’s property and is on display.
John Norman – Guardsmen of Gor
© 2012, Andrew Conway. All rights reserved.
Girls commonly like seeing other girls being beaten, whom they think are too proud, or whom they don’t like. It is almost a holiday in the slave quarters when a high slave is to be whipped, particularly if she is then to be reduced to the status of a common girl. “Am I permitted to feel shame, humiliation?” she asked, angrily.
“Of course,” I said. “Those are emotions which are permitted to slaves.”
John Norman – Blood Brothers of Gor
© 2012, Andrew Conway. All rights reserved.
“Can you understand me, my little she-quadruped?” asked my hostess. “Whimper once for ‘Yes,’ whimper twice for “No.’” Lale whimpered once.
“Good,” said my hostess. “You are a bright little she- quadruped.”
“Have you ever served as a she-quadruped before?” asked my hostess.
Lale whimpered twice.
“But you understand something of what is involved, do you not?” asked my hostess.
One whimper.
“For two weeks,” said my hostess, “or more, if I choose, you will be chained in the darkness, in one of the back alcoves, serving there as a speechless animal any who may come upon you or desire you.”
Lale groaned in pain.
“Do you understand?” asked my hostess.
Lale whimpered once.
“Take her away,” said my hostess.
Mercenaries of Gor, John Norman
© 2012, Andrew Conway. All rights reserved.
“Are you in a suitable position, for what you have been told you are?” he inquired.
She knelt in the beautiful position that had been taught her, back on her heels, back straight, head up, palms of the hands on her thighs.
He continued to regard her.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
She widened her knees. It was the last, small adjustment that had been taught to her, and that most recently. It was a position appropriate for her type of slave, the Gorean pleasure slave.
He continued to regard her.
Sobbing, she widened her knees still further before him.
— Prize of Gor by John Norman
© 2012, Andrew Conway. All rights reserved.